Not One of Us
by PrincessShoshana
Summary: "It's not incestuous if he's adopted, right?" After John is orphaned, he is taken in by the Holmes family. Sherlock is vehemently opposed to the idea at first, but then things get complicated when he falls in love.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not live in nor have I ever been to England, so my knowledge is completely based off of Sherlock, its fanfictions, and the British people I argue with.**

**I don't know London, but it kind of seems like England's New York City, right? So that's how I tried making it - all apartment buildings, or "blocks," I think you call it. :P So I guess the Holmeses live right outside London or something. I don't know, put your imagination to good use! :D**

**Also, thanks to The Lord Writer for giving me the title. :)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

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"No, I won't let! People are stupid!"

Mrs. Holmes watched unaffected as her son jumped up and down, furiously rejecting the idea of another boy coming to live with them.

"Sherlock, Mummy has already made her decision. Throwing a tantrum will only get you sent to your room," Mycroft told him easily from his position near the wall.

"Fine! I like my room!" Sherlock yelled stubbornly. "But I won't let him come!"

"We'll take away your ant farm as well."

Sherlock stopped jumping and turned to glare at who he was sure had to be the embodiment of Satan. "You wouldn't," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Seeing the opportunity to nab him without getting a flying fist in the nose, Mycroft scooped Sherlock into his arms and crossed the room to sit down, holding the small boy in place while he unsuccessfully tried to wriggle out of the strong grip.

"Please continue, Mummy," he said, ignoring his baby brother's protests.

Mrs. Holmes gave her eldest son a 'Thank you' smile before talking. "Cynthia Watson was my best friend since Uni. Her daughter got her friend's parents to take her in, but her son has nowhere to go." She slowly started to pluck her lace gloves off her fingers, her eyes knowingly trained on her children. "I will _not_ let him be put in the foster system to be taken in by greedy people who will pocket the money meant for him and abuse him. Therefore, I have offered to take him in. Any questions?"

"I don't see why I have to suffer just because some stupid boy doesn't have a mummy," Sherlock muttered spitefully.

"Mycroft, the ant farm."

"No! No, I'm sorry! Please, I won't do it again, I promise!" Sherlock cried, small fists clutching Mycroft's shirt desperately. "Please don't take them away!" Seeing the horrified look on the young boy's face, the teen's heart almost broke and he looked to his mother for guidance. She nodded.

"Good. He's nine; only a year older than you and I think you two will get along just fine if you don't act like a brat all the time. He will be here this afternoon and I expect you to be on your best behavior, understand?"

Sherlock begrudgingly nodded and shrugged Mycroft's loosening grip off of him to slide off his lap and run to his room.

Mycroft looked at his mother and sighed. "I trust you know what you're doing."

The woman simply smiled and leaned back in her chair.

**~o~0~o~**

John stared out the window of the car longingly, barely noticing the change in scenery as it went from trees and grass and pretty, quaint houses to buildings upon buildings with almost no nature to be found. His mind wandered as he wondered what his new home would be like. He'd never lived in a flat before, and though he had been in friends' flats, he imagined actually living in one would be different. And what would his new family be like? He was told his mum and theirs were close, but he'd never met her and her kids. That was probably the reason for the tension bundling up his shoulders beneath his jumper.

Would they accept him? Friends hadn't really been an issue for him in school, but he'd never been to London. Maybe the people were different. Maybe they wouldn't like him for growing up poorer than them.

As they slowed down in front of a large house-no, more like mansion-John's eyes widened. "Whoa," he breathed. "It's humungous."

"It's your new home," the driver told him and he got out of the car to go around to the trunk.

"It is?" John asked with disbelief as he unbuckled and scrambled to get his stuff. The driver shook his finger in the boy's face as a way of saying he would take it, and carried the medium-sized trunk up to the house. John slid his backpack onto his shoulder and followed the man up the steps. As he grew closer, he began to feel his nerves wearing under the pressure. The house was so big and his had been like a dollhouse in comparison. He tried to calm himself as he stepped inside and was immediately greeted by a tall woman with fancy clothes (she even had a bonnet!).

"Hello, John. I'm Vivian Holmes, but you can call me Mum if you'd like." She wore a smile that even John could see was strained and waved the chauffeur off.

"Thank you, M…Mrs. Holmes," John mumbled. "Thank you for taking me in. I hope it isn't trouble for you."

She shook her head with a soft laugh. "Not at all, dear. But please, at least call me Vivian. I don't allow family to be quite so formal with names."

John nodded. "Alright. Uhm, where am I staying?"

"Sherlock will show you to your room. But before we do that, when would you like to go to get your name changed?"

"Change my name?" He looked up at the fancy lady in surprise. "Why would I do that? Is John not fancy enough?"

Vivian laughed again. "Oh no, dear. Your surname will be changed to Holmes now that you're one of us." Seeing the solemn expression on the young boy's face, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you'd rather keep your own surname."

"I-if you don't mind," he requested softly.

She nodded before standing up straight and calling someone's name. A few seconds later, a young boy around John's age came into view. "I suppose I'm to show him to his room?" he asked grudgingly and John didn't miss the daggers being glared in his direction.

"Yes, Serlock. And you are to be pleasant as you do so."

"Hurry up," he snapped and John jumped a little before quickly scrambling after the brunette. "Now let's get things straight: I don't like you and I never will. and you aren't my brother, no matter what Mummy says. I already have a brother and I don't need you. Your room is here," John stopped in front of it as Sherlock did, "and mine is there and you are not to go in under any circumstances. Okay?"

John nodded quickly. "O-okay. Thank you!" he called as the rich kid stalked off to his own room. He sighed and walked into the room. This was going to be wonderful.

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**Review, please! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The tension in the house was almost stifling and John wanted nothing more than for someone to knock on the door and tell him that there was a mistake. That his parents didn't really die in that crash. He knew better, though, and looking at himself in the mirror just confirmed it

John Holmes-Watson (he'd agreed on that compromise); well, at least his name wasn't too out of place.

Hearing his name, he went downstairs for his second dinner with his new family. He sat down, managing not to make eye contact with anybody—especially not Sherlock, who was either not paying attention to him or glaring at him like he was a beast intruding—until Vivian spoke up. "Sherlock, why don't you tell John something about himself?"

John looked at her, tilting his head. "Tell me something about me?"

"Mummy, do you really think—" Mycroft started, but he was cut off by a manicured hand being raised.

Sherlock looked at John and the older boy had to resist the urge to shrink under the gaze. "Fine. You're lonely. You feel out of place here because you grew up poor and we are nowhere near, as well that you believe I hate you, good job figuring that one out. You're upset that your parents died, but you're more angry with your sister for leaving you alone after such an event. And most of all, you have nightmares, probably about being in the car with them, and soon enough you're going to start wishing it was more than just a dream." Sherlock pressed his lips together, unconsciously shifting closer to his brother in defense as he awaited the punches or, worse, the hurtful words. He couldn't stop his eyes from widening when John breathed, "Whoa."

"Whoa?" Sherlock repeated. "Don't you mean 'stupid freak'?"

"No! No, that was brilliant. I mean, sure, I'd like it if everything about me wasn't so obvious, but how did you do that?"

Mycroft smiled as he watched Sherlock's cheeks turn a soft shade of pink and looked at his mother, no doubt the wisest woman he would ever know.

"I noticed," Sherlock said shyly, but proudly. "Mycroft can do it too. He's better, but only because he's older." He looked back at the slightly older boy and smiled at the look of awe on his face.

Feeling a poke to his side, he punched Mycroft's knee, but took the hint anyway. "I'm going to be a pirate. Do you want to play with me?"

John smiled back and nodded his head quickly. "I'd love to! But only if you promise to do that thing again!" Sherlock jumped off of Mycroft's lap with a bounce that made the brother smile. "Come on, then. I'll show you my ship." He ran out of the room and, with a polite 'Excuse me' to the remaining pair at the table, John followed.

After watching them exit, the older Holmes boy turned to his mother with a shake of his head. "How did you know? No one's ever taken the deducing well."

"I didn't marry into the Holmes family by being an attractive bimbo," Vivian snapped. "I know people and Cynthia Gey-turned-Watson was not just anyone, nor is her son." Her voice became calmer, and she had the faintest of proud smirks on her face. "Now, I do believe it's time for desert."

**~o~0~o~**

"Argh, matey! Hand over the booty or I'll make ye walk the plank!" Sherlock threatened, pirate hat on his head and plastic sword aimed threateningly at the stuffed bear in front of them.

"He's still smiling," John whispered in his captain's ear. "I think he knows something."

Sherlock nodded and jabbed the sword into the furry chest. "Last chance. Where is it?"

There was uninterrupted silence for multiple seconds before John grabbed the prisoner by its front paws. "Alright, then. Plank it is!" he cried before dropping the bear off the side of the tree-house. They watched it fall and John winced as it hit the grass. "Cor, and he's still smiling."

Sherlock removed his hat and sat down on the wooden boards. "Well, we never did find out where the booty is. Guess we'll just have to steal some of Mycroft's candy when we get back."

The small blonde laughed and plopped down next to his new friend. "We probably shouldn't. But if we do, I hope there's gummy bears."

"If it exists and it has sugar, Mycroft has it." John laughed again and Sherlock couldn't stop his lips from forming themselves into a smile. John was laughing. He was _laughing_ and it wasn't at Sherlock. He wasn't calling him a freak or throwing a toy car in his direction. He was laughing _with_ Sherlock, which never happened unless he was watching something funny with Mycroft or Mummy.

"Can I ask you something?" John asked after he had calmed down. Sherlock looked at him curiously. "How come I haven't met your—uhm, our—dad yet?"

Sherlock turned his attention to the large garden that surrounded the tree and shrugged. "He's away a lot. We only really see him on holidays and his random breaks."

"Is he nice?"

The small brunette rolled his eyes. "He's a Holmes. We aren't nice."

"I don't think that's true," John told him. "But I'm sorry you don't get to see him. I would say I understand, but my parents were always home for supper."

Sherlock noticed the change in tone in the boy's voice as he finished speaking and he looked back over to see the blonde biting his bottom lip. "Are you going to cry? I'm not going to hug you or anything."

John looked over and gave a smile before shaking his head at his…brother? Yeah. That sounded about right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this took so long, I had a case of writer's block. ^^' Hope none of you lost interest within the time I was gone!**

**Also, sorry this chapter is shorter, I couldn't figure out how to lengthen it. ^^' Hope you still like it!**

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John yawned widely and stretched out as far as he could from his position on the bed and looked at the clock. _3:28_ hit his eyes in big, red letters and he groaned as he hid his head under his blankets. It didn't take him long to decide he wouldn't be able to sleep again anytime soon and he shoved his covers off before rolling off of his bed.

He padded down the steps softly, the well-kept stairs not making a single protest beneath his feet as he made his way to the kitchen. Upon arrival, he headed to the fridge and winced as the light hit his eyes and temporarily blinded him.

"Isn't it a bit late for a midnight snack?"

John turned around and rolled his eyes at the image of his adoptive brother (_a year younger and already a half head taller, stupid git_) leaning against the doorframe.

"Couldn't sleep anymore. Nothing better to do than eat, right?" John grabbed a pudding cup out of the fridge and took a spoon from the drawer before digging in with a pleased smile. "So what are you doing up?"

At Sherlock's raised eyebrow, the blonde snorted. "Oh, right. I forgot, you don't sleep. Pale, handsome, nocturnal... Sometimes I think you're a vampire."

"Please, John, don't tie me to something so juvenile." The taller teen rolled his eyes and pushed off the doorframe to walk over to John and scoop up some of the pudding with his finger.

"Hey!" John pushed him away with a frown. "Get your grubby hands off of my snack!"

Sherlock couldn't help but grin as he licked the pudding off of his finger. "Oh, come now, John, you know my hands are more than sanitary. With Mummy around, there's no getting around it."

John attempted to ignore him and quickly gobbled down the rest of his chocolaty deliciousness, as he liked to call it, and gave a pudding-filled smirk in the other boy's direction, getting a very disgusted look in return.

"I do believe you to be proof that nature is more potent than nurture," he commented, walking over to grab a napkin and hand it to the shorter boy, who took it with a closed-mouth chuckle.

"Well, either way, you adore me just the way I am."

Sherlock shook his head, but he couldn't keep the smirk of agreement off of his face. With a flick of his head, he beckoned John towards the study as he headed there himself. "If you can't sleep, you know I'm always here to help."

John smiled, coming up next to his brother and pulling him into a gentle side-hug. "Yeah, but Mycroft will have your head tomorrow if you wake him. Don't risk it, I'll be fine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the smaller boy's care; would he never learn? "I don't care about Mycroft's wrath, it isn't very intimidating. Besides, I've figured out a solution. Come."

Curiosity getting the better of himself, John followed the boy to a small room off to the side of the house. Well, small being relative, of course. It was about 60-75 square feet, but compared to the rest of the house it was fit for an infant.

"Wasn't this being used for storage?" John asked as he glanced around the unfamiliar room.

"Yes. Mummy just had it cleaned out, and I've discovered it's almost soundproof, certainly from different floors. Lie down," Sherlock ordered. He opened his violin case and pulled the instrument out as his adopted brother sprawled across the large couch against the far wall. With an indescribable accuracy, Sherlock ran the bow across the strings as his fingers worked the neck. He became so engrossed in the music, he didn't realize John was asleep until he finally opened his eyes and saw the way the athletic boy's chest rose and fell evenly.

A smile sneaked its way across Sherlock's face as he gently put away his violin before making his way next to his brother on the too-big couch and he snuggled closely to the shorter yet more muscular figure. For the past few years, this was the only place the young genius could find comfort: in the arms of the boy whom he had resented most the first day they met. In the arms of his brother.

The arms of the boy he had stupidly fallen in love with.


End file.
